


Studio Brew

by theashemarie



Series: Brewing Love [2]
Category: Splatoon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Found Family Dynamics, Non-Chronological, One Shot Collection, Post Demo Brew, Swearing, pearl is a bad worder, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-04-23 02:17:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19141567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theashemarie/pseuds/theashemarie
Summary: It started as a simple bet, but now Pearl's got love, friends, and a goal. Now, Marina's got love, a support system, and a future that she can look forward to. But, life doesn't always move at the same speed. Sometimes, it slows down. Sometimes, it speeds up. Sometimes, they can barely keep up.[Oneshot collection following Demo Brew. A bridge between two stories, showcasing small moments of a busy life.]





	1. 40-Love

**Author's Note:**

> This collection follows closely on the heels of my other story, Demo Brew. It is highly suggested you go read that one first. Don't say I didn't warn you. ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 15\. “That was a perfect example of how not to do things.”

Behind Pearl’s house (mansion) is a tennis court, where she used to spend her childhood watching her father play with his friends, wishing for and counting down the days until she would have fast, toned legs of her own. When she eventually developed her humanoid limbs, her father forced her into lessons, which she quickly decided she despised. She would hit the ball as hard as she could, sending it over the net and then over the line, which made her instructor upset. “You’re supposed to make it _bounce_ —” he would yell, waving his racket above his head. She thought that was stupid. Just hit the ball and nuke it over the net, just smack it as hard as possible. They can’t hit it back if they can’t see it.

Needless to say, she doesn’t play tennis anymore. But the court is still there. Sometimes, she takes her roller blades out there and skates around to old human music, imaging she’s back then, like in the movies, with the strobe lights and the disco ball. Other times, she takes chalk and draws, shitty lines and doodles that help her vent her frustrations with the world, her father, and her lessons. These days, she practices her flips, jumps, and dancing out there, blasting her own music, choreography moving her arms in practiced, fluid movements. Marina’s voice is beautiful from the boombox and sometimes Pearl stops just to listen.

Today though, Marina is here and she’s holding a small briefcase. A briefcase with a lock. She appeared in Pearl’s doorway with her motorcycle helmet hanging from her arm and a backpack on one shoulder, case held in front of her, and merely requested for Pearl to follow her. She walked through the house like she lived here, which she did, half of the time, and led Pearl to the tennis court. They’d played one game out here, a few months ago, Pearl trying to teach Marina the rules even though she herself didn’t understand them. In the end, they ended up merely hitting the ball against the wall, ricocheting it toward each other while they talked.

Once they get to the court, Marina kneels and unlocks the case. “Courtesy of Sheldon—”

“Wait, he’s using you as a courier now? Aren’t you supposed to _build_ —”

Marina holds up a hand. “He let me bring it here. This is a _prototype._ No one’s seen it but him and me.”

“Holy shit. You got the _goods_ , babe! Lemme see!”

“As you know, this is proprietary and—”

“Yeah yeah!” Pearl cries. “Confidential yada yada. Business secrets mumbo jumbo. I won’t tell anyone. Open it!”

Marina chuckles and pops the lid. She pulls it open and Pearl’s eyes widen into two large, bright yellow disks. “Yo, holy _shit!_ There’s _two!_ ”

“The Splat Dualies,” Marina recites, like she’s reading from a script. Pearl, meanwhile, grabs the guns from the case. The foam inside is cut into exactly the rounded shape of the weapons. “You carry one in each hand, and their propulsive exhaust nozzles allow you to perform what we’re calling a dodge roll.”

“A _who now_?” Pearl presses the triggers and is rewarded with a hollow click, the tell-tale sound of no ammo. “Aw man, no ink tank.”

Marina chuckles and smiles, a conniving thing that makes Pearl want to crawl into her chest and kiss her. But, more importantly, suddenly Marina is holding an ink tank, pulled right out of her bulky backpack.

“Fuck yeah, girl!” Pearl rushes her and kisses her right on the mouth. It’s open and more of a smack than anything, but then she takes the tank and slings it over her shoulder. Immediately it begins to fill with ink, and she shoots a small splotch on the ground so she can fill it as quickly as possible.

When she emerges, it’s with a giant, happy smile on her face. “So, they both shoot at the same time?”

“Mm-hm!” Marina mimes the action, holding both of her hands out. “Lots of spread. Watch your tank though. They’ll go through ink twice as fast.”

Pearl nods and practices, spraying pink ink all over the court. Soon enough, she’s zooming around, swimming and popping out to shoot like she’s been using these for years. She paints the wall and swims up just so she can do a cool flip right over Marina’s head.

She might be showing off, but if she can’t in front of Marina, then, when can she?

“Okay! The rolley thing. How do I do it?”

Marina stands from where she was kneeling in the only spot where there’s no ink. Her hair turns a pale pink as she steps toward Pearl, just so that her feet don’t get stuck, and she takes the Dualies and tank without a word. She swims a few feet away and stands perpendicular so that Pearl can see the long line of her profile.

“So, you’re shooting, and say someone’s coming toward you. All you do is shoot, start moving in any direction, and then click this button on the side.” She indicates a small trigger under the thumb, one so small that Pearl missed it. Then, she does just that. She shoots and then rolls backward, flipping once, head over heels, before landing right back on her feet. “You can do it twice in a row!” Marina calls as she does it again. “But then, you’re stuck in place for a bit. But the weapons can be combined into one and they’re more accurate when you’re like this!”

“Yo! Let me try!” Pearl falls into the ink and pops back up right in front of Marina. “Gimmie gimmie gimmie! I wanna try!”

Marina hands everything over easily. Then, she takes a few steps back. The sun is setting behind her and it makes her pink hair look like it’s on fire. Oh man, Pearl is gonna kiss the hell out of her in a few seconds. But first...

“Shoot first,” Marina advises, as Pearl’s thumb moves over the hidden propulsion button.

Pearl sticks her tongue out. “I heard you. Let me do the thing.”

Marina laughs and crosses her arms over her chest. Her leather jacket is well-worn, not a single speck of dirt or ink on it, and Pearl wonders if she would get mad if she just shot her right now. Just a little friendly ink. No, no, keep your eye on the prize Pearl.

It’s dodge rolling time.

She aims in front of her, toward the wall, away from Marina, because she doesn’t want to be sleeping on the metaphorical couch tonight and because she wants Marina to have full view as Pearl nails this on the first try. She shoots. She fires for a few seconds, just to make sure Marina’s paying attention. Then, she takes a step forward and clicks the button.

The world flips and ink flies. If the ground wasn’t already painted, she imagines that it would be a mess of pink now. Her ink tank swings over with her, its centrifugal force almost causing her to overbalance and land on her face, but she overcorrects and manages to stay upright. Then, she accidentally hits the button again because she panics and loses control for a second.

That’s when things go wrong.

She rolls again, and this time it’s too far. She slams face first into the wall. The dualies go flying, her ink tank smashes into her back, and she hits the ground before she realizes exactly what happened. When she comes back to herself, it’s to Marina hovering over her, her long hair around her face like a crown.

“You okay?” Marina asks as Pearl sits up, rubbing her head.

“I guess. How’d I do?”

“That was a perfect example of how _not_ to do the thing.”

“Well!” Pearl cries. “That was only my first time! Guess I’ll have to do it again!”

Marina chuckles and helps Pearl to her shaky feet. “Please just... Get away from the wall this time.”

“Yeah yeah...”

Pearl does as she’s told. Instead, she very woozily makes her way to the center of the court. The net is in her way, but she can squid through it if she needs to.

She grins and bends her knees, falling into a familiar battle stance. “All right Mar! Watch closely this time. I’ll get it!”

Marina leans against the wall, looking just like a greaser from the human movies, and Pearl has a moment’s fantasy of a different world, where she’s a jock and Marina’s a greaser and they have a forbidden romance.

“Stop staring at me and do it!” Marina calls, chuckling. Pearl shakes her head, banishing those thoughts for another time, and clicks in the triggers.

She ends up tangled in the net with Marina a ball of laughter across the court. As she grumbles good naturedly and turns into a squid to get free, she can’t help but feel lighter. With Marina laughing like that, it feels like she can do anything.

“Listen up Marina! It’s like tennis! Third time’s the charm!”

“That’s nothing like tennis!” Marina shrieks, far too gone in her laughter.

“What do _you_ know!”

Pearl pulls the triggers again and finally, finally, executes two dodge rolls. When she lands after the second one, she holds the guns together and watches the long, thin stream of rapid-fire ink, how it flies in a small arc, deadly in its accuracy.

“Oh, that’s dangerous,” she hisses in glee. This is going to be her new favorite weapon.

“Not as dangerous as the wall and the net, apparently,” Marina says as she hops out of the ink next to Pearl. She’s a fast swimmer, and she’s really good at quick turns, something that Pearl’s always admired.

“Hey, lay off me. I’m learning.” Pearl pins Marina in the chest with the muzzle of one of the guns, but it’s harmless because they’re both the same shade of pink. It looks good on Marina, but every color looks good on her.

“You’re doing great, dear,” Marina returns, patronizing. She easily wraps one hand around the dualie and tugs it free of Pearl’s fingers.

“You wanna go? I’ll take you.” Pearl brandishes the other weapon.

“Dualie vs. dualie... I guess it’s a good idea to test, see if they’re viable by themselves...”

“I’ll show you who’s viable. It’s me! Let’s go!”

Marina grins and crouches into her battle stance. It’s lithe and dangerous, all coiled muscles, and Pearl considers giving in, just so she can do that whole climb-in-her-chest-and-kiss-her thing. But then, she has something to prove now, doesn’t she?

Marina doesn’t have an ink tank so it’s no contest really. Pearl starts shooting, gets maybe one pellet on Marina’s jacket, but then she realizes they’re still the same color. Marina rolls once, using the ink that the weapon pulled from her body, and then just straight up lobs the gun right at Pearl’s head.

It nails her in the forehead, but it doesn’t hurt, not really. Marina has a light hand when she wants to, but the distraction is enough. Marina drops into the ink and practically teleports. She grabs Pearl’s wrist and yanks the other dualie free. Then, before Pearl can blink, she rolls across the ground and grabs up the other one.

“ _Damn_ ,” Pearl gasps to the muzzles of the dualies, pointed right at her chest. “Now I get how my tennis instructor felt. It _sucks_ when you can’t see what you’re supposed to hit.”

Marina laughs, a high chiming sound, and drops the guns to the ground, just so she can tow Pearl up into her arms. Pearl quickly closes the distance and gets the kiss she’s wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pearl, someday you will unlock the secrets of tennis and then you'll be unstoppable. 
> 
> Hello everyone! I'm here again, right on time, to continue to bloat the archive every week. How have you been? 
> 
> This collection will be updated every Saturday until I run out of material and decide to move on to the sequel. I'm using a prompt list as a form of structure, but the prompts are just one line of dialogue that I need to include somewhere in the piece. (There's 50 prompts, but I'm not sure if I'll write them all. If I decide to, I'll probably start updating more than once a week because I don't want this story to take over a year to post...) The oneshots in this collection aren't in any sort of chronological order, but they do take place between Demo Brew and its direct sequel (Blitz & Brew) and I won't be moving out of that time window. (It's about a year and a half in-universe.)
> 
> However, despite being non-chronological, there is a story here. Each oneshot might not contribute to the overall plot, but I will be building to a climax as we go. Mostly, though, I wanna spend a little time in domestic moments because Demo Brew was more focused on a physical plot. I wanna sit in the smaller, quieter moments for a little while. 
> 
> I'll be doing Camp NaNo in July to work on this story and the sequel, so I'll probably have an answer as to how long this will go on by August. Until then, I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Next chapter will be posted on Saturday, June 15. See you then! 
> 
> Kudos appreciated. Comments are cherished! 
> 
> (P.S. I'm looking for Splatoon writer friends! Please hit me up on Tumblr (@theashemarie) or Discord... I'm lonely and anxious and don't know how to make friends.)


	2. Bedroom, Night, Sleeplessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 47\. “I can think of a million places I’d rather be right now.”

Sometimes, Marina wakes and sits with the blankets pooled around her legs. She never cries at night, simply because she can’t. She wakes from the nightmares and can’t find the emotion in her body to conjure tears, can’t find the strength to hiccup sobs or to hyperventilate. Instead, she wakes up, and she sits, and she stares. She can feel the panic, but her body can’t manifest it physically. Next to her, Pearl sleeps, unaware of Marina’s body’s improper coping, its minimizing and suppressing. Sometimes, Marina stares at Pearl—to ground herself and it’s as close as she can get to a call for help. She watches Pearl sleep, watches the gentle movement of her chest, counts her breaths in an attempt distract herself, and sometimes she manages to get back to sleep after a few hours.

That night, she wakes, sits up, holds her face in her hands, wills herself to cry, to rid herself of all the panic and fear that’s clogged up her chest like too many splash walls. Instead, the feeling of foreboding, the fear of the water, the fear of the world falling down around her _because_ of her, because she left, because she woke up, because she trained and trained and watched people throw themselves into their work, their weapons—for what? For a war that never came. The inklings weren’t coming for her and the octarian army wasn’t going to get her back.

She turns to Pearl then. Counts her chest’s ups and downs. Her own little inkling, who loves her, who isn’t scared of her, who accepts her, past and all.

Pearl groans and rolls over. Her chest turned the different way, Marina can only stare at the back of her head. The pink tentacles are bleached of their color in the light coming from the alarm clock, and the skin on her back is pale as the moon. She wants to touch it, but she doesn’t want to disturb her. At least Pearl gets to sleep.

“Reena, why you awake?” Pearl rolls back over, groggy, and Marina immediately wants to kick herself. Pearl looks up at her, sitting here, and smiles briefly. “You’re loomin’. How ominous.”

Marina shrugs, noncommittal, doesn’t know how to put into words all the nasty emotions that are swirling around inside her. She doesn’t want to burden Pearl with all that. “Can’t sleep.”

“Huh? Well, c’mere then.” Pearl holds an arm open, and Marina realizes that’s exactly what she needs. She burrows in, puts her head on Pearl’s chest, hears her hearts against her ear, and sighs, trying to expel the panic that’s holding her own hearts in a vice grip.

“Nightmare?” Pearl asks—and how is she so perceptive here in the dark, after just waking up? Usually, she can’t tell a snake from a garden hose. But then, she would probably wrestle a snake any day.

Marina nods, unable to form the words. Carefully, she curls her hand around a fistful of Pearl’s shirt, just to have something to anchor her.

“It’s okay.” Pearl’s hand comes up and brushes lightly across Marina’s head, then down her cheek. She holds Marina’s face in her small palm and when she speaks again, it’s quiet, as if Marina is a skittery fish that will dart away without a moment’s notice. “Can you tell me one good thing about before?”

The question comes from nowhere and Marina sits up, hand planted on the bed, so she can make sure that Pearl realizes what she’s asking. Pearl’s determined expression meets her, and it’s clear that she’s wide awake now. Wide awake and serious.

“Maybe if you think about the good things, you can get past the nightmares,” Pearl says by way of explanation. “Or at least get back to sleep. Can’t hurt right? It was your home.”

“I can think of a million places I’d rather be right now,” Marina answers, monotone, trying not to let her emotions get the best of her.

“C’mon Mar.” Pearl reaches up and brushes Marina’s hair away from her face. “You need to talk about it. If not with me, then we can find someone. You need to work through it.”

Marina sighs and falls back to lay on Pearl’s chest. It’s better if she doesn’t have to see Pearl’s earnest expression. She doesn’t want to watch it morph into something else, something darker.

“Fine...” She begins to trace small shapes in Pearl’s shirt, just to distract herself. Under her finger, Pearl shudders when she hits a particularly sensitive spot. “They simulate the sky down there. It’s always sunny. The first time I saw rain up here, I laid in it for a while, just to feel it on my skin, as silly as it sounds. But, because it was always sunny, the beaches were lovely at all times of the year.”

“Wow, that sounds really nice,” Pearl hums. “We should go to the beach.”

Marina chuckles, and she feels some of the panic fly away, like a bird released from its cage. “It’s autumn.”

“Oh damn, right. I guess that’s one thing the octarians have over us, huh? It’s always beach time.”

Marina traces her finger over that sensitive spot again, just to feel Pearl jump under her. “I prefer the seasons. There’s a sense of movement, when the weather changes. It feels like I’m always moving forward, instead of marching in place.”

Pearl begins to copy Marina’s actions, running her fingers up and down Marina’s back in a mirror to Marina’s own movements on Pearl’s stomach. It’s a weird sensation, almost as if she’s drawing on her own back with a slight delay.

“I’ve never really thought of it that way,” Pearl says quietly. “You’re always making me see new things about the world.”

Marina chuckles and sits up again, this time only halfway so she can look Pearl in the face. “And you’re always there. No matter how much the world changes, I have you there to ground me.”

Pearl’s eyes are shining with some unknowable emotion and her hand comes to a stop against Marina’s back, fingers spread, strong, bracing. “That’s my job.”

“You’re an expert at it.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Marina sighs, suddenly nostalgic. She puts her head back down, just because she misses the sound of Pearl’s hearts, the sound of her life.

Pearl chuckles. “You’d be fine. You were doing great before you met me. I’m just along for the ride.”

Marina chuckles and shakes her head. Carefully, she beings her tracing again and Pearl easily follows. Together, they comfort each other in that small way, slightly out of sync but together.

They fall asleep like this, Marina first, because Pearl is determined to see her back to dreams. Then, Pearl follows, content that Marina trusts her enough to fall asleep on top of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote Sappho: "may you sleep on the breast of your gentle female companion”
> 
> A little short, a little sappy, a little late, but this chapter is one that I feel is necessary. Mostly for the quiet and the sap and the learning to survive--we need more of these moments. 
> 
> I was busy yesterday but I'm here today! Thank you to everyone who left comments on last chapter! I will get to those replies in due time, but first I have to prepare for a job interview. (Fingers crossed! I wanna get out of Texas and move in with my girlfriend in NJ!) 
> 
> Next chapter will be posted on Saturday, June 22! See you then! 
> 
> Kudos appreciated. Comments are cherished.


	3. The Shape of Screaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6\. “Could you be any louder?”

It’s quiet in Fresh Start. Three is in the back, balancing the books, and Pearl is in the front, leaning over the counter and trying not to flirt with Marina, who’s sitting at the closest table with her sketchbook and her glasses. The glasses are new. The sketchbook isn’t.

Marina has been scratching at it for a few minutes, but she looks up every now and then taps the end of her pencil against her bottom lip, clearly thinking. She spins the book around so she can get at it from a different angle, and Pearl sees her begin to shade by cross-hatching. She’s going to be at it for a while and Pearl is bored. There’s only one thing to do.

“What you doing tonight, Mar? Wanna do something crazy? With me?”

“I’m not going jet skiing,” Marina says, glancing up just there so she can pin Pearl with a glance over her glasses. “I don’t feel like dying today.”

“I suggested that _once_! Let it go.”

“Maybe.” Marina looks back at her drawing and she turns the book again. The cross-hatching begins anew.

“Anyway, listen... _Listen_ — Are you listening?”

Marina sighs and puts her pencil down. Compulsively, she pushes the right side of her headphones up and leans back in her chair. “I’m listening. Needy.”

“Damn straight. Anyway, let’s go to Mount Nantai. I wanna scream.”

Marina’s eyes widen. She looks down at the sketchbook and bites her lip impulsively, thinking. Pearl backpedals a bit, wondering if she said the wrong thing. “What? You don’t like Mount Nantai? You don’t like nature? Please don’t tell me you don’t like _screaming_. I’ve got one word for you: catharsis.”

Marina shakes her head. “It’s not that.” She slowly holds the sketchbook up. Rendered on it, in Marina’s careful hand, plain as day, is Pearl, clothing ripped, hair a bit shorter, piercings, and behind her is the forest that she knows so well from her youth, her time spent on vacation with her father, and her solo trips when she needed to let off steam.

But... Marina’s never seen her like that... She met Pearl well after she started wearing her hair longer, almost to her shoulders, after she stopped wearing the ripped clothing—Marina’s _never_ seen that pair of jeans _or_ that eyebrow piercing.

So. How the hell—

“Wait...” Pearl leans over the counter, hand out stretched, with grabby fingers. “Wait a fuckin’ second.” Marina stands, places the sketchbook down, and Pearl snatches it up. “That’s _me_.”

“Uh huh...” Marina sounds like she doesn’t believe it herself. She’s staring at the back of the book. “I didn’t realize until a few weeks ago.”

“Wait, wait. _What_?” Pearl’s voice is rising in volume. Luckily, there’s no one else here.

“I saw you,” Marina says plainly. “It was right after I made my way to the surface. You were there. I heard you yelling. At first, I thought someone needed help.”

Marina takes the book and flips a few pages back, where there’s a self-portrait of herself with way shorter hair and black armor, a strange ink tank, and an octoshot. “I saw you through the trees, but you were really far away. But it was obvious you were letting off steam. I could understand a few words. Something about your father and... the establishment? I didn’t get that one.”

Pearl chuckles but can’t recall the specific instance. She went out to Mount Nantai to scream a lot back then. She had a lot of anger, she was lonely, she was unhappy, and she needed to get it out. “So wait... You didn’t recognize me when you came in here for the first time?”

“No.” Marina shakes her head. “I thought it was a little weird because you were wearing black and had the short hair, but that’s not an uncommon style. But, a few weeks ago, I dreamed about it and I realized it was you... I’ve been looking for her for a while.”

“AWWW!” Pearl practically yells. “You dreamed about the screaming girl you saw in the forest! Wait, _that_ was your introduction to life on the surface? And I didn’t scare you away?”

Marina chuckles and leans on the counter. “Considering where I was coming from, one cute girl yelling her lungs out in the middle of nowhere wasn’t going to stop me.”

“Well! Look no further Reena! Here she is! Your knight in screaming armor!” Pearl strikes a little pose, knees bent, hands out in front of her, pointing right across the counter at Marina.

“ _Could you be any louder_?” Three calls from the back. “I’m trying to do _math_ back here and your flirting is distracting! By the way, that’s cute as shit Marina!”

“Sorry Three!” Pearl answers. Marina, meanwhile, tries to hide her blush behind her sketchbook.

“Carry on!” Three yells back. “Just use your inside voice!”

Pearl turns back to Marina, grinning, and finds her looking down at her sketchbook, embarrassed. “Hey,” she says as she uses one finger to push the sketchbook down. “It’s okay. She thinks we’re cute. She’s not mad.”

“It’s not that...” Marina blows out a breath, causing one of her tentacles to move slightly out of her face. “It’s just... I thought that girl was _so important_. I thought she was put in my path for a reason. I was _obsessed_ with her for so long...”

She flips back a few more pages, and turns the book around, holding it up so that she can hide her head behind it. On that two-page spread, there’s dozens of drawings of the mystery girl (Pearl), dressed in all black, face always in shadow, in various poses. Pearl is immediately taken with one where the girl is sitting against a wall with a hoodie on, positioned just so—her face perfectly hidden by the hood, but her legs are long and she’s leaning in a way that makes her torso look slim and long.

“Wow, you really need those glasses,” Pearl says, trying to make Marina laugh. “I’m not tall, or mysterious. I can see why you didn’t recognize me.”

Marina does laugh, though it’s hollow. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

Pearl laughs and takes the sketchbook so she can close it and put it down, a gesture of finality. “What’s weird? I’m hot as hell. I can understand why you were obsessed with me. Besides, I _was_ put in your path, girl! Twice! You just decided to find me again after the second time.”

Marina smiles then, a small thing that brightens the whole room. Pearl feels warmed just from seeing it and she reaches across the counter just so she can hook a finger in the neck of Marina’s shirt and pull her close. Marina goes willingly, and she leans on the counter as well, and soon enough they’re nose to nose.

“So, Mount Nantai. Yes or no?” Pearl asks.

Marina chuckles and closes the distance between them for a chaste kiss. “Of course.”

“Hey! No fraternizing on the job! I’m not paying you to kiss!” Three is leaning against the door, but she’s grinning.

“Aww, you love us,” Pearl shoots back and Marina scurries away, embarrassed again. “By the way, I’m gonna need tomorrow off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pearl would 100% love to be a cryptid if given the chance, just saying. 
> 
> Three's first appearance! And she's doing math! Wow, so zany! 
> 
> Apologies for the late upload last week btw. I was a busy bee, but hopefully I'll make the next few uploads on time! Thank you for your patience! 
> 
> Next upload will be on Saturday, June 29! See you then! 
> 
> Kudos are appreciated, but comments are CHERISHED. I cannot even tell you how much we writers love comments... They feed us. Please don't let us starve.


	4. Like Nobody's Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 30\. "I'm fine."

Here’s a truth: Marina loves to dance. She loves to throw her hands up above her head and spin around, loves when she knows that Pearl is staring at the long line of her body in open glee and dumb love as she sways her hips and moves in slow circles, sweeps her arms in practiced movements. Pearl loves her muscles, loves her hard stomach, loves her toned legs and muscled back, and Marina loves how soft Pearl is. They dance together, in the private of Pearl’s large bedroom, in Marina’s one-room apartment (half the size of Pearl’s bedroom), in Fresh Start when there’s no customers and Three is pretending not to watch.

Another truth: Marina loves baggy clothes. After a lifetime in skintight, half-revealing clothing, she loves the feeling of fabric on her skin. She adores hoodies, especially when the hood falls over her eyes, loves thigh high socks under loose jeans, is overjoyed at the first sign of winter because that means she can wear over-large sweaters that come down to her fingertips. It makes her feel like she imagines a normal child does, not one that was jettisoned into military training at such a young age that she developed her humanoid form with only other recruits—easily seven years her senior—to teach her. The large clothing makes her nostalgic for a past she didn’t have, produces within her a longing for a childhood of friends, ice cream, and skating rinks.

A final truth: Their first single is taking off, picked up as a Turf War track, and will find its first play in the rotation next week (Kelp Dome and Urchin Underpass). At that point, their agent assures them, there will be photoshoots, music videos, and the establishment of a Brand. It’s crunch time. Final decisions must be made, and Marina has a lot on her.

For, as it haunts Marina, their image is thus: Pearl, the punk princess, covered from shoulder to toe, accessorized with her crown and her scowl; Marina the sensual, flowing DJ, soft smiles, exposed stomach and back, top dragged open by a zipper, headphones and smooth dance moves only interrupted by punctuated, jagged record scratches. She doesn’t have a problem with the exposed skin. She doesn’t have a problem with the headphones or the feminine softness that’s meant to play off of Pearl’s more masculine projection. It’s something else.

She’ll miss wearing her baggy clothes, but she’s okay with being known for a more risqué look. She’s used to it. (And, after all, the clothes are only when they’re working in some official capacity. She isn’t going to be sewn into that outfit.) And, more than anything, she understands it. The personas will sell, because they juxtapose just the right way, click into place and mesh like clockwork. They’re just different enough, but cohesive enough that they can get along on stage. It creates an interesting dynamic, both in the tracks and on stage. Marina knows this because she designed the outfits and the personas. Granted, Pearl is pretty much one hundred percent herself, and Marina isn’t that far off either, but the performative aspect of stardom requires some forethought.

A secret: Marina is afraid, more than anything, of the dancing.

She doesn’t have much practice. Dancing wasn’t something she was taught, and it wasn’t something she grew up doing. Music wasn’t extinct in Octoling society, but it was rare, and often it was the same songs over and over again (approved, perhaps, by some higher power (DJ Octavio)). She caught other recruits dancing only once, when she was just getting used to changing from octo form to humanoid, and they were doing it in secret. Pressed close to each other, they laughed and teased each other as they swayed from side to side. One was humming and her partner looked up at her face and grinned a smile that Marina didn’t recognize. It was so intimate that Marina, peering around a corner with her short hair framing her face, felt embarrassed just by seeing.

Dancing became something sacred to her then, something intimate, something to be done only with those you absolutely trust. At the time, she didn’t understand the concept of love, but she did understand trust, so she never danced, just held the idea in her chest, nestled between her hearts, and wanted, more than anything, to find someone who she could feel comfortable enough with to be that close to.

Now, she’s found that person. That person is an inkling, a squid, in Inkopolis, where they dance publicly and without shame, where they are encouraged to express themselves by waving their arms and celebrating with their bodies. At first, it was so alien that Marina tried to avoid the plaza on Splatfest days, but now she likes to press her face against the fence and watch.

But, she’s not practiced. That’s the problem. She dances at home, she dances with Pearl in private, she dances with their choreographer and watches herself in the mirror, sees the technical precision in her own movements and the fluid easiness in Pearl’s, and she feels self-conscious. Functionally, their bodies are moving the same, are working in tandem and their choreographer praises and critiques them equally. Their skill is matched, but Pearl has a familiarity because she’s been doing this her own life. Marina, for all her quick learning and her technical ability (she’s always the best at the technical), can’t help but feel clunky in her own body.

Which is how, in a roundabout way, she finds herself at an outdoor dance somewhere outside the city. There are paper lanterns strewn up around the perimeter, creating a thin boundary between the outside world and the party, and the flashing lights create a veil of otherworldly energy. Marina sits at a table with her hands on her knees, bandanna tight around her hair and ears, and tries to not feel like she’s sticking out. Pearl is somewhere in the crowd, gyrating with the other bodies, all of them practiced and comfortable with the movements. They’ve had a lifetime of practice—dancing with parents, dancing with friends, sneaking out and dancing at parties, dancing at splatfests, dancing at weddings and births and everything in between. Marina has exactly twenty months of private practice, one year of practice with Pearl, and nine months of rigorous, daily instruction. She can’t compare.

Marina’s overalls are tight enough to show off her figure but loose enough that she can hide inside them. She sits at the table and hides her arms, wonders why she agreed to this. “It’ll be good for you,” Pearl assured her as she adjusted her own tank top just so in the mirror at home. “You need practice and you need to get used to people.”

That was easier said than done. Marina is used to people—it’s the _dancing_ that’s got her all tied up in knots. She’d much rather grow roots around this very chair than go out there.

“Hey,” a voice that sounds like Pearl’s says and Marina looks up to find her, looking mussed and flushed from the dancing. She has on baggy cargo pants and a loose tank top, which is slipping down one shoulder. It makes Marina’s mouth go dry to see, and she has to shake herself out of her gaping when she remembers that she’s supposed to be anxious and unsure. “How are you?”

Marina feels her hands curl into fists. “I’m fine.”

“Why don’t you join me? For one song?”

Marina sits back and forces herself to look relaxed. “I like to watch.”

Pearl must hear something in her voice because she easily drops down in the seat next to Marina. The lights paint her skin in a rainbow of colors and Marina wants to reach out and touch, just to see if it feels different. “I know you’re scared, but this is important. None of these people will look at you.”

She probably has a point. From her vantage point, Marina can tell that every person out there only has eyes for their partner, their friends, or the floor. They don’t look past their immediate bubble. This is a safe place to practice. She knows it and Pearl knows it and Pearl knows that she knows it. She has no excuse.

“I’m...” she sighs. “I know I shouldn’t be scared, but I am. I’m not used to... _existing_ in a state of motion like that.”

Pearl chuckles and puts a hand on Marina’s knee. Her overalls are short cut-offs and Pearl’s hand lands on bare skin. It makes Marina’s nerves misfire; there’s something about this place that has her body on high alert, both in the good and bad ways.

“You’re such a fuckin’ scientist sometimes.” Pearl pins her with a dumb, admiring smile. “But, Reena, you need to put the scientist away for a sec, okay? She’s really good at cost-benefit analysis, at danger assessment, and at putting furniture together—” Marina can’t help but laugh, and that loosens her up. “But she gets in the way. Musician Marina needs a chance to stretch, y’know? Musician Marina is a _great_ dancer. She gets the beat inside her and she lets it move her. I’ve seen it. It’s fuckin’ amazing.”

Marina looks down at the hand and realizes that Pearl is tapping her thumb in time with the throbs of the music. It sparks against her skin, sending up little fireworks of sensation that run down her leg into her foot. The same foot taps, inside her sneaker, not visibly, and she wonders just how long she’s been doing that. In the middle of the room, the crowd moves as one, pulsating like a gelatinous blob, pliable and reactionary.

She unclenches her jaw.

“I’ll be right at your side,” Pearl continues. “You’ll never be alone. I’ll hold your hand and I’ll dance like an idiot if you mess up so no one looks at you. But, there’s no _messing up_ here, not really. This isn’t choreographed. You just have to feel it out, like when we’re alone and—”

“Pearlie,” Marina cuts in. “Shut up. Let’s go.”

Because Pearl is right. Marina often gets in her own way, because her brain is something like a runaway train. It just goes and goes and goes, pretzeling itself into a mess of what ifs and unsure fears. It’s defensive, a way to keep her alive, but she doesn’t have to worry about stuff like that anymore. Now, she’s learning to dance because this is what she _wants._ She wants to perform and to stand in front of a crowd and entertain them with music and dancing.

But, more than anything, she realizes now, she wants to make Pearl proud. She wants to dance next to her and match her and show her how much she wants this. She wants to do this.

Pearl grins up at her, a bright, large thing, and grabs Marina’s hand. “Hell yeah babe! Let’s fucking go!” She rushes toward the floor, dragging Marina with her, and they fold easily into the crowd.

Marina, apprehensive but determined, allows herself to be swept along, and she lets the music burrow its way in. Soon enough, she’s moving her body instinctively. Next to her, Pearl matches her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use fanfiction primarily to put Marina in overalls because that's the gayest outfit I can think of. Apparently. 
> 
> Yo, why did no one tell me it was Pearlina week? It's too late for me to really participate, but I might scrap together something tomorrow for the last day... Keep your eyes peeled, aye? (Maybe a collab with my gf??) 
> 
> A big THANK YOU to everyone who took the time to comment last chapter! Me begging for sustenance worked apparently lol. I spent all week reading those comments over and over and it made me almost update early (almost)...
> 
> Next chapter will be posted on Saturday, July 6! Chapter hint: Pearl and Marina go dress shopping...
> 
> As always, I really appreciate kudos, but comments are cherished. They really kick me in the ass to keep writing on this thing, and with Camp NaNo coming up soon (my goal is 30k!), I'm gonna need all the motivation I can get. If you liked, let me know, yeah? :D


	5. Mirroring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 40\. "I believe you dropped this."

They’re out dress shopping. Pearl’s father is throwing some sort of fancy party this weekend and it’s come to Pearl’s attention that Marina doesn’t have any formal wear. Pearl’s initial instinct had been to offer Marina one her dresses, but they were all too floofy and also... too small, something that Marina was very apologetic about as she stood in Pearl’s room, clad in a fluffy blouse that was usually a dress. Pearl didn’t admit it then, but she was kinda upset that Marina couldn’t just borrow one of hers, but she’s also very aware that she has some sort of fascination with Marina wearing her clothes. It makes her feel very, very good when she sees Marina dressed in her oversized hoodies and sweatpants, but, alas, that can’t extend to fitted clothing.

So, Pearl’s onto the next best thing. She’s going to buy Marina the best damn dress she can.

Even if that means dragging her to every expensive boutique in the plaza. Marina squawks about not needing a dress that costs in the triple or quadruple digits, but Pearl is determined. She’s determined to spoil Marina in this one way, if only because she wants her to be comfortable around all of her father’s friends and business associates and their beautiful, rich children.

(And she wants to show Marina off, some small part of her mind says. And maybe she does. Not just because she’s hot but because she’s so beautiful—inside and out. Pearl wants Marina to look exactly how she makes Pearl feel.)

“What do you think?” Marina asks as she steps out in the fiftieth dress that day. They’ve been to six shops so far and still no luck. Everything fits weird, as if they’re not used to someone as _long_ as Marina, and she’s clearly starting to get a little fed up with this whole exercise. If she had it her way, she’d show up in a sweater dress and boots. Which, fair enough, would be hot as hell, but not nearly formal enough.

Not that Marina would particularly care. This is one part of inkling culture that she doesn’t quite get. Dressing formally doesn’t matter when you use your best manners, and Marina doesn’t really care about what people look like, most of the time. She’d much rather be comfortable. (That probably has something to do with growing up in a uniform, where what you wore _didn’t_ matter. Or at least, Pearl thinks that’s what it was like. It’s hard to tell because Marina doesn’t like to talk about it.)

Marina steps primly up to the set of mirrors pressed into the corner of the dressing room. They offer a wide view of the dress, both for Marina and for Pearl, where’s she sprawled out on the little couch with a sparkling water in her lap. The dress is a bright sunny yellow, cut rather unflatteringly right in the middle of her thigh. Clearly, it’s meant to hit at the knees, but on Marina it hits in all the wrong places, is snug around her round pectoral muscles and loose everywhere else. She tugs self-consciously at the neckline.

“No,” Pearl says simply. They’re well past the coddling and the reassurance phase. Plus, Marina understands that Pearl isn’t critiquing _her_. It’s the dresses that are at fault here. “Too awkward. Like an unhappy sun.”

Marina tugs at the neckline again. “I thought the same thing. The neck is too high.”

That too. The neckline is a high style, a semi-turtle neck that looks ready to strangle Marina if she moves too fast. It’s too much for her slender frame and it completely destroys any chance at a delicate necklace.

Marina disappears back into the dressing room after Pearl wrinkles her nose in agreement and Pearl is back to entertaining herself. She hasn’t been dress shopping in a long time, mostly because she’s skipped out on most of these parties in the past few years. When she couldn’t weasel her way out, she would just wear one of her old dresses or the pant suit that she got a few years ago. It’s kind of nice to be back here, even if she’s not the one playing dress up.

She knows that her father expects her to doll Marina up. He likes Marina, and Pearl can tell that this party is a way to induct her into their life, in its own small way. He made sure to invite Marina specifically, separate from Pearl, at dinner a few nights ago, and he looked pleased when she easily accepted, unaware of what she was getting herself into. Pearl is just happy that he seems to be content with Marina. He’s very hard to impress.

But then, Marina has this energy about her—it’s all goodwill mixed with an edge of danger. She’ll meet you halfway and is warm and happy until you cross her wrong way. He’s probably content both because she’s so sweet and because she clearly has the potential to for danger, something he admires in everyone, especially if they seem protective. She won’t let anything happen to Pearl.  

“Okay,” Marina says as she pushes the dressing room door open. “This one’s good. Close your eyes.”

She sounds excited, which is new. This whole time, she’s only sounded exhausted and annoyed. Pearl sits up straighter and happily obliges her. With her eyes closed, she hears the swish of fabric as Marina moves toward the mirrors.

“Open,” Marina commands and Pearl doesn’t waste any time. Her eyes fly open and she gasps immediately. The dress is dark blue, like the sea after a hard rain, lace, and, most importantly, a perfect, beautiful length. High in the front and long in the back, it brushes just against Marina’s knees and then swoops to the floor with a perfect hem. The neckline is straight, just below her clavicle with dainty, elbow length sleeves. Marina is smiling broadly, so even she can tell how perfectly it fits, and Pearl quickly stands so she can move toward her.

“Here,” Pearl says as she holds her hand out. Marina easily takes it, lacing their fingers together. “I believe you dropped this. Let me hold it for you.”

Marina giggles and turns to look in the mirror. There is their dichotomy: Marina in her beautiful dress with her beautiful smile and Pearl in her tank top and tight athletic shorts with a scowl. One elegant and the other messy and rough. Just how Pearl likes it. Sure, Marina doesn’t always dress like this, but she’s always dignified and graceful in her own way, even when pouting about shopping or confused about inkling customs.

“Perfect,” Marina says as she runs her free hand down her side and over the slight bump of her own hip. “Especially now that you’re next to me.”

“I’m the ultimate accessory, baby!” Pearl strikes a little pose, one leg in front of the other and bent at the knee, free arm cranked into a flex. “I’m just here to make you look good!”

Marina laughs and twirls once, letting go of Pearl’s hand for only a second. The dress flies out and brushes against Pearl’s knees. It’s a soft sensory feeling but it’s enough to send every nerve in her body singing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you follow my other story ([Meet Me on the Rink](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19427734/chapters/46236532)), you'll know that I couldn't update this last week because of personal reasons, but I'm here now! Rejoice! 
> 
> ([View Marina's dress here.](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/249385958724730880/583515996200108043/sexy-formal-dark-blue-short-front-long-back-high-low-top-lace-prom-dresses-princess-dress.png)) 
> 
> Thank you for all of your comments on the last two chapters! I'll be replying to those shortly! I'm spending Camp NaNo working on my roller derby AU so I'm not making much progress on this story, but I'm hoping to start more of the external conflict soon. There's been a bit of subtle emotional conflict but yeah... Time to get moving! 
> 
> Next update should be Saturday, July 20! (Final Splatfest time! Go Team Chaos!) See you then! 
> 
> Comments are cherished and mega appreciated!


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